Part 5 - Taking Control and Drifting Apart (1965 to 1991)
This and the next section are briefer than other sections. I have a life threatening brain tumour which I’ve been dealing with since August 2024, so my research and writing is pretty slow. There are few pictures, and less text and I rely fairly heavily on my sister Kate, whose own recollection appear in below.
Kate and I plan to flesh this out over coming months.
Mum — 1968 to 1991
Mum was always the steady centre of our family. Life at home wasn’t easy. Dad had begun collecting, filling hallways and corners with stacks of newspapers and ‘treasures’ from roadside clean-ups, garage sales, op shops, books, records, and more. His moods could shift suddenly, and the atmosphere was often tense and explosive, though outsiders mostly saw only his humour and life-of-the-party piano-playing charm — also a part of him. Looking back, I can see now that he was living with mental illness — obsessive-compulsive behaviours, anxiety, and depression — conditions little understood then. Whatever the reason, it created enormous strain for Mum and for us three children living within his unpredictable orbit.
Through it all, Mum held things together. She kept the house running, the meals cooked, the garden mowed, neat and tidy, and the three of us as grounded as she could. She didn’t need manicured gardens — just bright pink and white geraniums and anything that would grow from a cutting gathered from family and friends. Her dinners were simple and good: chops, peas and potatoes, corned beef with white sauce, and her unforgettable roast lamb. I remember clearly her admonition if we didn’t eat certain veges: “There are children starving in Biafra who’d be grateful for that!” Cakes and slices appeared as if by magic, and she made fabulous Women’s Weekly cookbook birthday cakes. She could feed ten people without fuss from whatever was in the fridge.
Mum was also a wonderful seamstress, always with a stack of alteration and repair jobs waiting in her back sewing room. Over the years, we children — and later our spouses and the grandchildren — kept her busy with endless hems, zips, and mending. She and Claire loved shopping and were always after a bargain — Claire especially, blessed with uncanny “tinny” luck. Vinnies was a favourite haunt.
The keystones of Mum’s life were always her children, her faith, and her family. Dinner around the small beige Formica table often ended with Mum in the traditional role of clearing up while Dad challenged Rob, David, and me with lateral thinking puzzles and word games — something that sparked our shared love of words and ideas. That “traditional role” was something Dad assumed and Mum fell into — likely because of her nature and upbringing.
Dad was extremely tight with money, and Mum became an expert at stretching every dollar. I remember her writing out little chits of paper constantly, in tiny spiral notebooks, listing every grocery and household purchase so Dad would reimburse her. She often had to battle to justify expenses — school needs, a trip to the dentist, new shoes. When Rob later went through Dad’s things, he found box after box of those tiny receipts — a paper trail of a life spent accounting for every cent.
It was Mum who made our holidays at Avoca happen each year, and I’ll always be grateful to her — and to Aunty Claire — for those simple weeks of laughter and freedom with our aunts and cousins. Just ninety minutes north of Sydney, Avoca Beach gave us two weeks a year but memories for life.
Later, she began carving out more independence. She joined the local tennis club, playing every Thursday and often at night — her time out with great friends. She learned to swim, something Dad laughed at — until she won a trophy for “Most Improved” — and eventually got her driver’s licence and her own car, much to Dad’s disapproval but to her great delight. Another step toward freedom.
Mum took a housecleaning job for a time to get the extras for herself and for us kids. She then worked for many years at Charley Horse Fashions in Castlecrag as a seamstress, and later in the men’s department at Grace Bros Chatswood, where she was loved for her kindness and her knack for finding people exactly what they wanted. Nothing was ever too much trouble for Mum, and she took great pride in providing fabulous customer service. Sometimes I wished she could stand up to Dad more, but now I see how much she was already doing — breaking through her conditioning, step by step, to find her own voice. That strength grew even more after Dad’s death, when she began to travel.
Those years between 1968 and 1991 were full of both ordinary and extraordinary moments. In the 1970s, Mum became a grandmother — first to Lauren, then Charlotte, Samantha, Michael, Benjamin, Elyse, and Alexander — a joy that never left her. Whatever event was on to do with the grandchildren — a concert, dance recital, play, sports match, book week — Mum would be there. I remember her legendary trips to Disney on Ice and any show going, often with a trail of grandchildren in tow. Their joy was her joy.
There were always yummy leftovers in the fridge and cookies in the glass jar with gumnuts on the lid — Melting Moments, Shortbread, Anzacs, and Yum Yum cookies, her signature bakes. (In later years, when dementia took Mum over and she couldn’t remember how to cook, I began baking the cookies each week — even though she still thought she was the cook.)
Mum’s connection to St Thomas’ Church in Willoughby ran deep; she was part of that community for almost seventy years. She and Claire were central figures there — arranging flowers for services, helping at parish events, and volunteering together at the Matthew Talbot Men’s Home. During these years, Mum took a huge leap in confidence and began teaching Scripture classes at Willoughby Infants School — a role she loved, and the children loved her just as much. She brought such a gentle and committed way to this work. When a new rule came in that teachers weren’t allowed to hug the children, Mum ignored it completely, saying, “Children need to be hugged.”
And always, Mum’s passion for family gathered us in. Every event, big or small, seemed to include cousins, friends, and the inevitable “hangers-on,” as Dad used to call them. Even though home life was often extremely difficult, Mum made sure that life was rich and full, ensuring we built lifelong bonds with our cousins that endure today — thanks to Mum, our aunts, and uncles who made family the heart of everything. ❤️
To be re-directed to any other part of Gwen’s story, click on the applicable blue text below.
Part 1 -The Cooberang years (1928 to 1941)
Part 2 - Move to Sydney and the War years (1941 to 1945)
Part 3- First jobs, meeting Alf and religious differences (1945 to 1951)
Part 4 - Marriage and children (1951 to 1965)
Part 5 - Taking control and drifting apart (1965 to 1991)
Part 6 - Life after Dad (1991 to 2011)
Part 7 - The Alzheimer years (2011 to 2020)